


charcoal veins

by a_ufo_party



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fitz is a small town mechanic, Hunter is a charming criminal on the run, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Set in the late 80's, Sexual Tension, Some Angst (With A Happy Ending)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_ufo_party/pseuds/a_ufo_party
Summary: As the son of the local mechanic in a middle-of-nowhere town, Fitz feels disconnected from the rest of the world. His monotonous life has left him numb and longing for something new. This all changes when a charming criminal comes to town in need of car assistance...
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25





	charcoal veins

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first ever FitzHunter fic! I hope you enjoy it. I've shipped them for forever, but I've just never gotten enough motivation to finish a fic...until now! Thank you so much to Al for encouraging me. I love ya lots <3
> 
> This was initially inspired by the short film Iain did a few years back called Liam and Lenka but it is definitely not a direct au. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, mentions of homophobia, mentions of drug use, and guns
> 
> Also, this fic is set in the late 80's, which is not really relevant to the story at all, but for aesthetic reasons I'm letting you know.

_ That road outside that you've been taking home forever _

_ That'll be the same road that I take when I depart _

_ Those charcoal veins that hold this chosen land together _

_ May twist and turn but somewhere deep there is a heart _

_ -Playing With Fire, Brandon Flowers _

* * *

Fieldview was a small town where everyone knew everyone, and strangers were rarer than snow in June. If someone did pass through, chances were good they didn’t spend the night as the only motel had closed down years ago, boarding up its windows and leaving it to the rats. The road out of town was rough, but no one saw any point in repairing it as no one ever seemed to leave. If you were born in Fieldview, you worked in Fieldview, you died in Fieldview. That was just the way things were.

Leo Fitz was the son of the local auto repair man. His father was well liked in town, but Fitz often thought the only reason he was treated with such respect was that he held the power to dictate who could leave (by car, at least.) With the angry wrinkles etched into his face and his rough, weathered hands, he did not look like a warm man, nor did he behave in a way that contradicted his appearance. He treated everyone as beneath him, and that included his son. On his best (sober) days, he was distant and cold, on his worst, Fitz knew to keep his guard up and hide if he heard the slamming of the screen door. He had scars from broken bottles, and tender places from past bruises and when he turned 18 his father gave him another affliction: a job at the garage. He learned to repair cars so that one day, he could take over the business. It was the final nail in the coffin. He was born in Fieldview, he would work in Fieldview, and he would die in Fieldview…

* * *

Lifting the beer to his lips, Fitz squinted off into the harsh mid-afternoon sun. Business was slow today, so his father had gone to the bar down the road, leaving him in charge. Not that there was much to be in charge of. One car sat in the garage, waiting for pick up. Another, on the hood of which Fitz was perched, was in the drive, waiting for a part that would not be delivered until Wednesday. There was nothing to do except stare at the dusty road for signs of traffic and watch the streetlight change aimlessly. Like everyone in town, it carried on with its job without purpose, without reason, simply out of a fear of its existence ceasing. Across the road was a church, long abandoned when the pastor had passed away and no one had stepped up to replace him, and beside that was Fitz’s home, barely bigger than a trailer, and desperately in need of a paint job. 

Finishing the beer in one final swig, Fitz leapt from his seat and tossed the bottle into the garbage with a clunk. Absentmindedly, he turned on the radio on the workbench and flipped through the static fuzzied channels until he reached the news. There was never anything in the news that would affect him, hidden away in his nowhere town, but hearing it made him feel less separate. It was his tether to the world beyond the pothole riddled road out of town. 

_ “The world out there has nothing fer ya, boy,” _ his father often growled when he overheard,  _ “Better to stay put where yer known, where you’ve a home and a job. What would you do in a big city but get lost?”  _

Fitz thought it sounded nice to live somewhere where he could get lost, but he never repeated this idea.

Seating himself on the stool beside the bench, he leaned on his elbows and listened. The radio announced that it would be hot this week, that the chances of rain were slim to none. A few towns over, there was a fair happening this weekend. One of the carnies had been arrested for shoplifting. Someone’s lost dog had been found, someone was selling a bedframe. The news carried on with similar, equally boring reports and Fitz felt himself dozing off…

...

“Hey. Hey, wake up.” An unfamiliar voice hissed and Fitz felt something prodding his back.

“Wha…” He started, sitting up from his slouched position and rubbing his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Evidently not long enough that his father was home, thank God. He knew all too well the consequences for sleeping on the job. 

Turning, he saw that he was face to face with another man. “Oh, um, sorry about that. What can I-”

“This your garage?” The man had an untamed beard and a sharp look in his caramel-brown eyes. He looked thoroughly disheveled, with his stained white tank top and worn leather jacket, as well as his jeans which had mud caked around their cuffs. Despite all of this, he was handsome: dangerously, carelessly so. And there was something wild and nervous about him that set Fitz on edge. 

He struggled to respond. “Yeah...I mean, no, it’s my father’s, but I work here-”

“So you’re the ‘son’ in “Fitz and Son’s’?” Crossing his arms, he lifted an eyebrow. “My car won’t start and it’s smoking from the hood.”

“Okay, um, what color’s the smoke? It could be the-”

“Your dad here?” Looking around with a suspicious glint in his eye, he reached for something in his jacket.

Fitz’s gaze followed his hand. “No, he’s down the road at the pub, but I can do an assessment if you like.”

“Please and thank you.” He nodded slowly, lifting a cigarette to his lips. “It’s just a half mile that way, by the remains of what I would guess was once a motel.”

“Okay. I’ll get my things and meet you there, Mr…”

“Hunter.”

“Hunter,” repeated Fitz, risking a small smile. 

Hunter smiled back, though it was more of a grimace, before turning and walking down the dusty road.

* * *

As Fitz looked under the car hood, he felt Hunter’s eyes on his back. It was distracting. He wasn’t used to being noticed, much less stared at (it wasn’t altogether unpleasant, though.)

True to his word, the car was stopped on the side of the road near the old motel. Together, they had pushed it into the motel’s lot. Then, Hunter had removed his leather jacket, seated himself on the curb and focused his gaze on Fitz. 

“What is this place anyway?” Hunter asked after several minutes of silence. 

“What? Oh, um, it’s called Fieldview-”

“You live here?”

“Yeah.”

“Whole life?”

Fitz nodded, returning his attention to the white smoke seeping from the hood.

Hunter gave a sympathetic whistle, “Well, you have my condolences.”

“S’not so bad.” It was a lie, but he thought if he said it out loud he might believe it.

“I’ll take your word for it, mate.” 

“Where are you from?”

“By which you mean, where was I born? London.”

“How about now?”

“Wherever I damn well please!” He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back against the rusted mailbox. 

“Must be nice.”

“It is, until my car starts smoking in shithole just south of nowhere. No offense.”

Fitz smirked, “None taken.”

“You ought to give it a try sometime.”

“It’s not so easy to just up and leave when you’ve got a father like mine.”

“How old are you?”

“I turn 20 next month.”

“Seems to me you don’t need your old man’s permission.” 

Fitz shrugged. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he stood up straight and closed the hood. 

“Well doctor? Will she live?” 

“You’ve got a cracked engine block.”

“Can you repair it?” Rising to his feet, he grabbed his jacket and strolled to stand beside Fitz. 

“I can, but it’ll probably be cheaper to replace it.”

“Which is faster?”

“Well, seeing as we’ll have to order the parts for a replacement, um-”

“Whichever option gets me on the road quickest is what I choose.”

“Alright. Well, in that case, there is a third option. I could put some plugs in the crack. It’ll hold for a bit, but you’ll want to get a proper fix eventually once you’ve reached your destination.”

“How long will that take?”

“We’ve got two cars in the garage right now so-”

There was a click and a flash of metal.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Hunter spoke low, pressing something cold and metallic into Fitz’s side “How long will that take?”

Swallowing roughly, Fitz’s heart began to pound in his ears. His eyes scanned the area wildly, but as usual, there was nothing in sight except abandoned buildings. So, with a shiver, his gaze met Hunter’s and he muttered, “It’s about 15 hours of work.”

The gun clicked. “Make it twelve.”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.” He felt the head of the gun press against him harder and flinched. 

“Yeah? Well, if it takes longer than twelve hours we’ll have another thing to worry about in the form of some heavily armed, heavily pissed off men. I’m giving you until sunup tomorrow. After that, I’m pulling the trigger and taking your car.”

Fitz was about to reply that he didn’t have a car, but thought better of it. So, instead, while holding the other man’s gaze, he lifted his hands in defeat and nodded.

“It’s nothing personal, mate.” Hunter murmured after a moment, lowering the gun. “Just bad luck.”

* * *

Hunter escorted him to the garage to get some tools and scribble his father an excuse note for his absence (if he said he was sick, there was a chance his father would assume he was in bed and not go looking for him,) all while holding the gun in his coat-covered hand. He also took a case of beer from the garage’s mini fridge. 

“Stressful day,” he smirked when Fitz glared at him.

“Is it?” Fitz replied sarcastically, trying not to find the other man charming (he was aiming a gun at him, for God’s sake!)

Then, they returned to the car and Fitz got to work. 

While he scraped and clinked beneath the hood, Hunter found a project of his own. Evidently displeased with the sidewalk as a seat, he had taken to picking the lock of one of the motel doors. After several minutes of effort, the door swung open and the man gave a triumphant exclamation before disappearing inside.

Nothing was stopping Fitz from leaving. From the sound of rusty springs, it was evident that Hunter was resting on the bed. If he took off now, he could be home before he even noticed. Then he could call the sheriff and-

The sheriff was at the pub with his father. A lot of help he would be. 

Despite the nature of the situation, he couldn’t help feeling a strange lack of anxiety. In fact, he was far more frightened of what his father would do when he returned home drunk to find that his son was not there, than he was of the stranger with the gun. 

After twenty minutes or so, Hunter returned to the sunlight, now clean shaven with a beer in hand. 

Fitz must have gaped for a moment longer than was natural, for the other man grinned and gestured to his chin.

“What are you staring at? Struck by my beauty which was hidden behind the beard?” 

He looked back at the engine, blushing furiously and said nothing.

“Oh, come on, Fitz. We can be friends. I highly doubt this relationship will end in your murder, look how much progress you’ve made already.” His hand fell weightily onto the mechanic’s shoulder. 

Fitz flinched at the contact.

Dropping his arm at once, Hunter looked almost concerned. “Have a beer, mate. It’ll make the work go by faster.” 

“Yeah, okay.” His skin seemed to burn where the other man had touched.

As the sun fell across the sky, Fitz made slow but steady progress on the vehicle. For a long time, he and Hunter did not speak much, but they did share a habit of looking over their shoulders at any new sound. 

In Hunter’s case, he was presumably watching out for the police, or whoever he was on the run from.

In Fitz’s, it was his father he feared.

“What time is it?” Fitz asked eventually, stretching out his cramped back. Leaning over a car hood for hours at a time was strenuous enough in the cool of the garage, but in the early evening sunlight it was damn near unbearable. 

“Nearly six.”

Fitz nodded.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.” 

“You won’t run away if I go down the road to your garage and get whatever is left in that mini fridge.” It wasn’t a question, but Fitz nodded anyway. “Alright then. I’ll be back.”

Several minutes later, Fitz found himself seated on the sidewalk beside Hunter. The pillaging of the fridge had resulted in a yield of two apples, a sandwich, and a bag of trailmix. Both men took a piece of fruit and left the rest between them.

“I don’t mean to ruin our dinner with work talk,” Hunter spoke between bites, “but how much longer do you think until the engine is repaired?”

After thinking a moment, Fitz lifted the apple to his mouth. “Six more hours.”

“Cheers to that.”

They ate in silence for a moment.

Then, Hunter lifted the sandwich, tore it in half, and unceremoniously held out a portion to Fitz.

He stared at it.

“Well? I didn’t poison it, it’s from your own bloody fridge.”

Taking what was offered, Fitz smiled slightly. There was a warmth to Hunter that Fitz found both unusual and endearing. Perhaps he was just tired, but it seemed to him the man who held him captive at gunpoint...cared about his well being. After spending hours together, he had noticed the softness behind the rugged, dangerous exterior. It seemed to him that Hunter truly intended him no harm. In fact, under different circumstances, they might have been friends.

For his part, Fitz found he wanted to know more about the stranger: as much as he could learn.

“Speaking of work talk…” he started nervously after a moment.

“Oh, please don’t ask me why I’m on the run, we were getting along so well.” 

“I only want to know...did you kill someone?”

“I might, if he keeps pressing.” There was no real threat in his voice, so Fitz continued.

“Who are you running from? The police?”

“Mate, I wish I was running from the police. They follow you for three days then get bored.”

“Someone you stole from?”

He snorted, “He stole from me, for bloody years. I’m just returning the favor.”

“What did you take?”

Lifting a beer to his lips, Hunter gestured towards the trunk of the car.

Cautiously, Fitz set aside his food and went to investigate. At first glance, it looked empty.

“Under the carpet.” Hunter called lazily.

“Is it-is it drugs?”

“Yes, beneath the carpet is a cornucopia of nonspecific drugs.” He rolled his eyes.

Moving aside the gray fabric, Fitz froze. “Is that-”

“The most money you’ve ever seen.” 

“Who-”

“My former employer, but he won’t miss it. You know what they say, you can’t take it with you…”

Closing the trunk, Fitz turned to him. “You killed him?”

“He would’ve killed me. A truly terrible man, if I’ve ever met one. Besides, no one was sorry to see him go. It’s the money they miss, not the owner, but I figured the old rule applies: killers keepers.”

“I don’t think that’s the expression.”

Hunter shrugged and smirked.

Of all the sensations Fitz expected to feel, guilt was not among them. However, as he sat beside Hunter once more and took up his sandwich, his stomach twisted with it. He quickly realized the reason for this: he felt guilt because this new information did nothing to change his feelings for Hunter. The man had killed someone and taken their money, and yet...Fitz was only more intrigued and drawn to him. 

“When you say ‘your employer…’”

“Think comic book villain, big bad, crime boss...like I said, no one’ll miss him.”

And with that, they ate in silence until the food was gone. Then, Fitz got back to work and Hunter got back to watching him.

* * *

Sunset came faster than Fitz was expecting. And with it, a new, cloying worry.

“Hunter…” He started when he noticed headlights down the road.

“Hm?”

“I don’t think it’s the best idea for us to be out here now. Sun’s going down.”

“You afraid of the dark?”

He glared. “This is a small town, everything closes with the daylight. Most of the men who were at the pub will be headed home and chances are good they’ll get suspicious when they drive by.” 

Squinting at the headlights, Hunter sighed. “Alright. Into the motel room, then.”

“What?”

“We’ll wait out the procession of small town busybodies, and once they’re all tucked away in their beds, you can get back to work.” Nudging Fitz with his elbow, he nodded towards the open door.

Fitz did as instructed, taking the lantern with him, and made his way into the musty room.

It was obvious the motel had been closed for years, with the dust clinging to the curtains and staleness in the air. However, the plastic furniture coverings (evidently removed by Hunter that afternoon) had done their job. The bed and easychair did not look too worse for wear (although this may have just been due to the fact that the only light by which to see was from a dim lantern.) 

In a moment, the door was closed with a click and Fitz found his hand being filled with a bottle of beer.

“Drink up,” said Hunter.

“Thanks.” He replied, feeling a strange, nervous anticipation for something he did not comprehend. 

The other man seated himself on the easychair and peered through one of the cracks in the boards on the window. Light splashed across his face. “You were right, my clever friend. Looks like my car alone is enough to become a local attraction.” 

“Are there people out there?”

“Two men. Best turn off that lantern.”

Fitz did so, then took a swig of his beer anxiously.

“You’d think they’d never seen a car before. They better not try anything...”

“What do they look like?”

“One is heavy set and bald with glasses-”

“That’s Mr. Brewer, he owns the gas station.”

“-and the other looks a bit like you, if you spent forty years as a fire and brimstone preacher.”

Fitz shrunk back into the shadows. “That’ll be my father.”

Shaking his head, Hunter let out a breath. “Looks like a real friendly bloke.”

A beat passed and Fitz noticed Hunter fingering the trigger of his gun.

Through the door, he could hear their muffled voices. It sounded like they were arguing about towing the car. For several minutes, as the rise and fall of their conversation filled the room, the two young men were still and silent. Then, there was a pause, and they agreed to leave it be until the morning. Their cars started, headlights shone through the boards, and they were gone.

And Fitz, who had not realized he was holding his breath, finally exhaled. Sinking onto the bed, he rested his face in his hands and waited for the blood throbbing in his ears to slow. That was too close. It was a miracle his father hadn’t opened the hood and seen the half finished repair; that would have given him away. It was bad enough his father would go home to find his son wasn’t there, it’d be much worse to be found in a motel room with another man. He’d heard how his father often spoke about him: too soft, too sensitive, calling him cruel words he did not want to repeat even in his mind. This would only give him more fuel.

After gaining some composure, Fitz sat up.

Hunter was staring at him, eyebrows arched in concern. “He’s really done a number on you, huh?”

“Can I-” Fitz started, eyes falling to the floor, “-can I have another beer?”

“Mate, you can have two.”

* * *

“So it’s just you and your old man, then?” Hunter asked, a genuine interest in his voice.

“Yeah. My mum died when I was five, and I don’t have any siblings or anything. I-I have a cousin a few towns over, but I don’t like him much.” 

After a half hour of tense silence as they watched cars come and go, the traffic had finally slowed, and they had begun to talk. Conversation flowed easily, as if they had known each other for a very long time. With each new fact he learned about Hunter (he had a sister and a flat in London, but he had not visited either in several years. He’d worked for the aforementioned “employer” since he was 16, and he was 23 now. He liked football and music, and his preferred mode of transportation was a motorcycle.) his desire to know more grew. In his eyes, the man had gone from a stranger, to a criminal, to a human in a matter of hours.

“And I am right in presuming he is a bit of an arsehole.” Hunter continued with a knowing grimace.

“Yeah. But...but I think all fathers are. I suppose I’m lucky that mine’s an arsehole who gave me a job.”

“Gave you a job, or trapped you?”

“What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Hunter took a swig from the bottle in his hand and waved away the thought. “You have any future plans?”

“Not really. I mean, I’ll take over the garage when my father retires-”

“Why?”

“Because…” Fitz’s brow furrowed defensively. “Because it’s what I know.”

“Sounds boring, mate.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be rogue criminals.”

Lifting a hand to his heart, Hunter feigned offense. “You wound me! I prefer to think of myself as an anti hero.”

Smirking, Fitz removed his flannel (it was getting stuffy in the tiny room) and tossed it aside. He tried not to notice the way Hunter’s eyes lingered on his now exposed arms. “What are you gonna do with the money?”

“Well, I’ll send some to my sister, hence the anti hero thing, and the rest…” He let out a contemplative breath, “I shall live large in a secluded, undisclosed location until the men who are after me forget that I exist. Or kill me. Whichever comes first.” 

Fitz felt a strange pang of abandonment, but brushed it away. “So then...you’ll be alone?”

“Always.” He lifted his bottle in cheers. Then, he lowered it, a serious look clouding his gaze. “How would you spend the money?”

“Don’t know...probably buy a car and go somewhere far, see the ocean,” he shrugged before adding wryly, “Or I’d pay the mechanic instead of forcing him to work at gunpoint.”

Hunter chuckled. Then, he rose to his feet, removed his jacket and reached into its pocket. “You know...this is probably the beer talking, but what the hell. Since you apparently prefer bribery...” crossing the room, he dropped the gun onto the bed side table and put his hands in the air. “No more threats of violence. When the job is done, you’ll get compensation...put it towards that car, or gamble it all away at the local poker game. I don’t give a damn what you do with it.”

“You’re not serious.”

“As serious as a man can be after half a case of beer.”

Fitz leapt to his feet and strode to Hunter’s side. “But I don’t...why?”

“Perhaps I feel a bit remorseful after getting to know you and hearing the details of your sad little life. It doesn’t happen very often, but occasionally I am a nice person.” 

“”Thank you-”

“Don’t get mushy on me, I was just starting to like you and if I find out you’re sentimental, that will all change.” He gave a sarcastic look of warning.

Meeting his gaze with burning sincerity, Fitz replied, “I like you too.”

He felt a sturdy hand fall onto his shoulder and squeeze gently. For a moment, Hunter was silent, thinking; then he let out a breath and said, “I know I’ve just said I don’t care what you do with the money, but I am redacting that statement. Buy the car, get out of this town. Take my word for it, the only things keeping you here are things you would be happier without. I know you said it's not so bad, but that was bollocks and we both know it.”

He spoke so earnestly, Fitz felt the delusions of his daily life melting around him. He wasn’t content, he was numb. But Hunter wasn’t numb: Hunter was alive and vibrant and real. Every day, Fitz had woken up wondering if that was the day he would finally snap. And yet every day, he woke up, went to work, went to bed, and repeated it all again, the pain growing duller. It was like a constantly prodded bruise. But now the skin was broken. With a shiver, the words fell from his lips. “No, yeah...you’re right. It’s just hard. It’s hard to know when to go.”

“Well, my friend, consider this a divine sign that it's time to get the hell away from Fieldview.”

Fitz smiled.

A beat passed.

Hunter’s hand remained on his shoulder.

Both men noticed it at the same time, but neither did anything to change it. In the low light, Fitz could see Hunter’s chest rising and falling. It was so quiet, he thought, if he really tried, he could hear the heart beating within: beating in time with his own. 

He felt flushed and warm and frozen and dizzy all at once. The way Hunter was looking at him fueled the fire that had been burning low inside him all evening. He wanted something. He ached for it. Anticipation and anxiety pulsed through his veins.

Hunter lowered his eyes and he felt the hand on his shoulder begin to fall. 

No.

Unable to stop himself, Fitz stepped forward and kissed the other man.

Almost at once, he was held by Hunter. Hunter’s arms enwrapped his frame, pulling him closer. Nervously, but not without enthusiasm, Fitz allowed his hands to trail up his companion’s neck and stroke the stubble on his jaw. It felt good. It felt better than good. He sighed as his body seemed to cry out,  _ “Finally!” _ Soon, Hunter opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, causing Fitz to wonder if his now-trembling legs had ever worked at all. The man felt strong and solid, warm and rough. His hands were large and his lips were soft. And in acquiring what he had wanted, Fitz found he only wanted more...

Together, they stumbled blindly backwards and fell onto the bed. 

“Damn, I should’ve bribed you sooner.” Hunter joked breathlessly from above him

“Shut up.” Fitz replied against his mouth.

Then, they spoke no more, except to breathe each others names into the night air.

* * *

The sun wasn’t up yet.

Through the gaps in the boards, the blueish light of the moon sprayed across Hunter’s pale chest.    
He had a tattoo, Fitz observed from his position beside him, as well as several scars. As he rested, his nostrils flared with each breath. He slept on his back with his face tilted slightly towards the door (Fitz wondered if this was a safety habit-) 

(-he also wondered if Hunter had noticed anything about him.)

They had both fallen asleep soon after the night’s activities, their arms touching, but not entwined. Perhaps he was naive to hope for tenderness after what was surely just a one night stand, nevertheless his chest ached with the concept of the gentle embrace they could have shared. For a moment, he considered slipping his hand into Hunter’s as the other man slept, in the hopes he would think they had spent the night that way, but feared waking him. So, instead, he silently threw his feet over the side of the bed and ran his fingers through his curls. Then, he searched the floor blindly for his clothes. 

Once dressed, he crept around the bed and in a moment of instinct, picked up the gun from the side table. He had a plan, or rather, a fragment of a plan. It was stupid and reckless, but he was desperate. As quietly as possible, he tucked the weapon into his belt and risked one more glance at Hunter.

He was as sound asleep (and as handsome) as before.

Then, he slipped out of the room and got to work repairing the car. There were only a few more hours until sunrise.

* * *

He heard the door open behind him but did not turn from his position hunched over the car.

“I thought you’d gone and run off.” Hunter’s voice rang out, sounding relieved (Fitz hoped the relief in seeing him was about more than just the car-repair.) 

“No...no, um, I couldn’t sleep, figured I’d get back to work.”

“Good man.” 

There was a strained moment of silence in the air which seemed to acknowledge both the night’s events and the lack of need to discuss them. 

“How much longer, then?” Hunter spoke again.

“Not long.”

“Sun’s nearly up…”

“Yeah, and I’m nearly done,” he snapped.

“Alright, bloody hell, somebody hasn’t had their morning coffee.”

Standing up straight, Fitz finally turned to face him. 

Hunter wore his tank top and jeans from the previous day; his hair was mussed, and the stubble on his jaw had turned into a beard once more. Crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, his eyes were tired but amused in the early morning light. 

“Sorry...didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just nervous.” He froze and scolded himself for the slip of the tongue.

“What have you got to be nervous about? I’m the one who should be nervous, what with the whole ‘bad men chasing me’ thing.”

“No, yeah, you’re right. It’s just...my father.” 

Hunter seemed to accept this excuse and gave a sympathetic grimace.

Fitz hoped he wouldn’t notice the gun tucked into his belt, hidden beneath his flannel. 

“Well, back to work, then.” Hunter nodded kindly.

He did as instructed. His companion went back inside, and as the sun began to creep over the surrounding hills, Fitz finished repairing the engine (if you could really call it repairing, as he had essentially put a band-aid over a geyser.) 

“Now comes the moment of truth…” he whispered to himself as he shut the hood and opened the drivers side door. Feeling no surprise upon finding the car had been hotwired, (It would have been far more shocking if Hunter had  _ not _ stolen his ride) he lifted the cut red and green wires and touched them together.

The vehicle roared to life.

Chuckling breathlessly, he felt relief flood his body.

At the sound of the car, Hunter burst through the motel door. Sprinting across the dusty parking lot, he slapped a hand on the top of the car and grinned, “You did it, you brilliant bastard!” 

Fitz smiled back, feeling quite warm. Dropping the wires, he stepped out of the car and was suddenly pulled into a tight embrace. 

It lasted only a moment.

But in that moment, Fitz did not breath, his heart hardly beat. There was something about sharing such an innocent gesture with someone with whom you had shared so much more. In that moment, Fitz allowed his cheek to brush against Hunter’s beard and his eyes to close. If his plan did not work, this was all he would have...and he wanted to remember it.

Then, they stepped away from each other as violently as they had embraced. 

“Right,” clearing his throat, Hunter adjusted his jacket and looked around. “Well, I suppose it's time for you and I to say goodbye.”

“Yeah,” Fitz swallowed roughly. 

“I’ll start, then. I appreciate everything you did, even that which was done under threat of violence-”

“Hunter-”

“-I’m not finished making my very touching speech.” He held out a finger, “I really do hope the best for you, and I have enjoyed our time together...Well, most of our time together. Some moments were better than others.” He lifted his eyebrows mischievously.

“Hunter-”

“What? Oh, the money, I was hoping you’d forget about that. Drunk Hunter is a very giving soul-”

“No, it’s not the money, it’s-”

“No, I am, for the most part, a man of my word,” he began to walk towards the trunk of the car. “I’ll get you what I promised-”

“Hunter, stop!” Fitz said at last, clumsily drawing the gun from his belt. Holding it in front of him with trembling hands, he cocked it with a loud click. 

Lifting his hands in reflex, Hunter turned around slowly. However, when he saw Fitz’s stance, he quickly dropped his arms, “You’re not bloody serious…”

“I-I am serious, so just listen to me for a minute,” the gun felt awkward and heavy in his hands. “I have something to say, and now I’m holding the gun, so-”

“We both know you couldn’t shoot it if you tried, mate.”

“Yes I could-”

“Your hands are shaking.” He took a lazy step forward, looking truly unbothered. 

“That’s because I haven’t had any bloody sleep.”

It wasn’t intended to be a suggestive comment, but Hunter evidently took it that way. He smirked as he strolled forward. “So you don’t want the money? Or...you want  _ all _ of the money, hence the gun.”

“I don’t want the money!”

“Well, that’s great news for me-”

“Will you shut up! I don’t want the money, I want-” he forced his hands to steady, “No, I  _ am _ coming with you!” 

At this, Hunter finally froze with barely a foot between him and the gun. His eyes grew wide, but the rest of his face remained unreadable: infuriatingly so. Fitz had hoped for something definite: a denial or an agreement, an insult or an embrace. Instead, there was silence and ambiguity. 

“And-and I’m not asking,” repeated Fitz, failing to hide the desperation in his voice.

The other man was unmoved.

“Well? Say something!”

Hunter’s eyes passed from the gun to Fitz’s face once, then twice. His mouth opened slightly, then shut. His brow furrowed in thought. 

A beat passed.

Just as Fitz opened his mouth to plead again, Hunter fell forward, took his head in his hands, and kissed him. 

At once, Fitz melted and wrapped his arms around his neck. The past night had felt like a dream, but this felt real. They stood in the new daylight, holding each other, not hidden by darkness or motel walls. He could see his companion, and the world could see them. Fitz felt Hunter’s hands move down his waist, up his back…

The gun was pulled from his hand.

And the other man was no longer in his arms.

Fitz’s eyes shot open. Between him and Hunter was now a foot of cold morning air. A lonely ache consumed his chest.

With a look of guilt, Hunter backed up towards his car. “The gun was never loaded, love.”

So that was it. In one moment, he had gone from feeling alive to once again feeling numb. No, it was worse than numbness: it was the loss of hope. At least when he was numb he had not had a taste of what he lacked. Now everything had changed. 

Hot tears prickled his eyes.

Without looking back, Hunter opened the car door and tossed the gun onto the seat. However, he did not get inside. Instead, he stood beside the vehicle, one hand on the roof, staring at the ground. 

Fitz wanted to say something else, but he couldn’t. His tongue felt heavy. Looking down the dirt road, his eyes fell onto the garage in the distance. Soon, his father would wake up. He would make a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, and slap his hand against the wall to wake his son. They would walk together in a strained silence, and work in the same manner. Life would go back to how it was. 

He couldn’t stand it.

Looking back at Hunter, he saw that the man was now staring at him. 

“Well?” Fitz angrily wiped away the tear which had escaped from his eye. “Get going, then.”

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Hunter sighed, “Screw it, I could use the company.”

The words passed over Fitz like a bucket of ice water. “What?”

“Get in the car before I change my mind.”

“Are you-”

“Sure? Not at all. But I said what I said, so get in the bloody car.”

It was all Fitz needed to hear. Running forward, he threw open the door and fell onto the passenger's seat. In a moment, Hunter was beside him, a disbelieving look in his eyes, but a smile on his lips.

Reaching for the wires, he paused, “You know...I’m not coming back to this backwater town, so this is it.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“My life’s a shitshow, you may end up getting killed-”

“Better than dying in Fieldview.”

“Here here.” Hunter agreed. Then, he turned to face him, a reverent, searching gleam in his eyes. They silently asked one last time,  _ “Are you sure?” _

Leaning forward, Fitz nodded as he brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. At once, Hunter cupped his cheek and relaxed into the embrace. This was enough to convince him.

After pulling away, Hunter took his hand in his own and kissed its back. “Alright, we’re off.”

Fitz beamed.

“Where to?” Hunter asked as the car roared to life.

“Anywhere.”

“Alright. Well, I seem to remember you saying something about the ocean…”

Moments later, the car was speeding down the pothole riddled road out of town, leaving Fieldview behind them, and the long, open road ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! I really appreciate it. I loved writing this. If you liked it, comments are extremely appreciated! If you didn't like it, in the words of Claire from Bon Appétit, "I want you to know that I can except zero criticism right now." 
> 
> Also, I have many many many ideas for a possible sequel to this fic, so if you would be interested in more fics set in this universe, lmk!
> 
> Thank you again for reading <3


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